Dust Flecks and History
by Zahnmai
Summary: Charles Tucker tries to get to the Bridge. Season One silliness...


Commander Trip Tucker smoothed his hair and smiled at himself in the mirror. His uniform was smooth, suave and gave him an air of sophistication that he was faking as the newly appointed Chief Engineer of the Starship Enterprise.

Dust Flecks And History

By Cari Brandy

Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker, III smoothed his dark, blond hair and smiled at himself in the mirror.His uniform was smooth, suave and gave him an air of sophistication that he was faking as the newly appointed Chief Engineer of the starship Enterprise. This would be his first day working on the bridge of the greatest invention mankind had ever created. To say he was a bit nervous would be a serious understatement. But, he was also very excited.

_Chief Engineer, it had a nice ring to it, he thought, __of the latest and greatest thing to fly off planet since the Vulcans landed on Earth 100 years prior. Now that was an accomplishment. Never in a million years would he have thought Captain Archer would have selected him. Yes, they were friends, but hell, he'd watched many friends fly off on cargo vessels across the solar system without him. _

He took another look in the mirror, picking at a minute speck of dust on his uniform shirt. White flecks on dark purple made for an untidy presentation. Whoever thought dark purple was a great color for a military uniform was beyond him. He brushed at the white fleck furrowing his brow in annoyance. 

_Okay, he thought to himself__, he was smooth now, regal and ready to take on any challenge. He would make Captain Archer proud; he would be the best, inexperienced Chief Engineer on a starship anywhere. Hell, that was an easy boast since this was the only starship in space, but he would be the best at it anyway. He found another fleck of dust on his sleeve and impatiently brushed it away. __Wow, this uniform attracted the stuff. Maybe it was just his nerves._

His blue eyes twinkled as he recalled the ship's manifest of eligible ladies just waiting to fall into his arms. He would be the best at that, too. _Yeah, right, in his dreams_. He was better than Merriweather at not stumbling over his words, but uniforms only helped get the ladies' interest. After that Tucker realized that he would mentally fall flat on his face, because he had nothing interesting to say about space. He had never been in it. But hell, he would try his best.It was, after all, his duty to entertain as well as be extremely productive. He was a commander now and with that came certain respects and privileges. As he pulled on his shoes, he reflected on how his new rank and status would work in his favor. He would walk down the ship's corridors surveying the territory and taking in the view. Of the crew, there was a nice mix: about 40 percent women, 58 percent men and two percent other, and of course, one Captain's dog and the Vulcan woman who was an iceberg and thus didn't count. Another fleck. Brushed off rapidly. _Shoes, too small. Great. Too late to replicate new ones._

He wondered if his trip to the Bridge would produce the desired effect; walk of confidence in spite of his shoes being too small, a look of competence he did not readily feel and a smile at anyone who approached him to cover nervousness he'd only admit to himself. This great journey into the final frontier had begun, and he already felt the weight of history leaning on his shoulders and the cramp of ill-fitting shoes pinching his toes. The latter he could fix; the former he'd just have to learn to live with. This was, after all, the first trip, on the first starship, manned and leaving the confines of their immediate sector. With all of that history he could almost feel an invisible note taker recording this moment. Dust fleck on the other sleeve. Tucker plucked it off impatiently.

All he could think of as he headed out of his quarters and down the corridor was would he be up to the task. Would history record the gallant crew of the starship Enterprise with a Chief Engineer overwhelmed by white flecks on his uniform, shoes too small for him to walk, a limp from tripping and splatting unceremoniously as he entered the lift to the Bridge because of fighting killer dust flecks and shoes on a crimping rampage and a bemused Captain Archer rethinking the sanity of his second in command. He shook off these thoughts as he waited for the lift, stepping inside carefully to avoid the small space between the corridor floor and the lift flooring. _No splats today_. The doors whizzed shut.

_So far so good. Tucker breathed a sigh of relief. He would requisition a larger pair of shoes after his duty shift, get a dust flecker from the clothing department and breathe a sigh of relief at having survived the first day. The lift arrived on Bridge level and the doors whooshed open. All he had to do was make it across the Bridge to his station without incident. He was busy brushing another fleck off his tunic when the doors whooshed shut, whisking him off to deck six and another call. _

His heart sank. _Oh no_, he groaned inwardly. _Had anyone seen him?_ What would they say when he arrived for a second time on the Bridge. He called out again for the command center and the lift quickly obliged. Deck Six's passenger would have to wait. When the lift arrived on the Bridge again he nearly jumped off, landing on his toes, biting off a curse from the pinch the boots gave him. He walked carefully to his station, not meeting the eyes of anyone on the Bridge lest they break into unbridled chortling at his expense.

_No one had noticed_, he sighed sinking gratefully into his chair, _There was a God in the universe after all._

He heard a soft chuckle and looked up to meet the eyes of Captain Archer who quickly returned his gaze to the padd in his hand. Trip's heart sank. Would Archer say anything? Trip waited. After a few moments of silence and no more looks from the Captain, he breathed out. No, his friend wouldn't reveal how nervous he was.

And no one else had seemed to notice his elongated lift ride. 

Tomorrow would be more straightforward, he promised himself, looking at the work on his console. 

Second days were always easier.


End file.
